


Obliging the Inclination of Our Stars

by houfukuseisaku



Series: virtus migrat in vitium [2]
Category: Evillious Chronicles
Genre: Experimental Writing Exercise, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2019-07-01 01:46:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 15,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15764085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/houfukuseisaku/pseuds/houfukuseisaku
Summary: The stars incline us, they do not bind us. But they watch, and they wait, and they weep for us and our stories and our songs and our souls.An accompanying piece to "astra inclinant, sed non obligant", and thus may contain spoilers for the aforementioned. This is mostly an experiment of throwing plot points at the AU to see what sticks and what doesn't, as well as a side-project for when writer's block impedes progress on the main Astra Inclinant fic; thus it will probably consist of short, scattered snippets of the larger story, and the canonicity pertaining to both the original material and the AU will be highly dubious.





	1. words

**Author's Note:**

> In a white room, in a clockwork theater, in the heart of a rice-field.

The theater is quiet without the others around, only you and your two assistants left to fill in the cacophonous silence. And Sickle, assuming he's still there somewhere and not down below, down on the surface, in observation.

Envy flares up in you (and how ironic that it is Envy, considering... well, you can recognize Barisol's voice anywhere, even in the form of the corrupted words of an Angel) and you stew in your thoughts for a bit. Let the shadows have something to chew on before you put them to restless sleep once again. Envy flares, and you direct it all at the sun god, at his freedom and his whimsy and his cowardice. And how he allows himself to fly freely upon the surface world, while you are left here to rot in this white chamber, this cold prison, this Pandora's Box.

Your thoughts disperse like steam escaping from a kettle-mouth with a hiss from your lips, as the needle pierces your skin and delivers the burning liquid into your bloodstream. Your assistant cringes, less so than the first few times, but after the countless administrations you'd have thought she would be used to it by now.

But no. She is as kind as always, too empathic for her own good, and in almost everything but name, just like her.

Nothing like HER.

"Next time, just let me do it." Your other assistant, the younger one, grouses, exasperation and concern blended together like oil and water. Then, her voice takes on a gentler tone, and you can almost picture it in your thoughts. Brown eyes meeting blue, scarred skin on pristine porcelain. "I can see it, you know. I'm not blind. How the mere thought of hurting someone, even if accidental, pains you so much."

The first one bows her head, in agreement or shame or another emotion entirely, you don't know, but any further words between them starts to fade from your ears. The poison-and-cure burns under your skin, coursing through your veins and arteries, and as you tip your head back and lose yourself to the numbing feeling, you catch the last bits of their conversation before succumbing to the speech of the shadows.

"... three different medicines already..."

"... vaccinating himself... immune..."

"... HER... the 12 keywords..."

"... clockwork lullaby..."

And then, the words become nothing more than meaningless noise. You bring your blurry gaze back onto the flickering screen, back onto the ongoing narrative of the thousand-year story, and focus.

Focus on the words.

The words.

The key of words.

Everything else becomes muted as the medicine runs its course, darkening the shadows with artificial sleep and blurring out the words of everything but the Angel on the movie screen.

As you focus 99% of your attention on unravelling its words, her words, HER words, you let the remaining 1% act as your anchor to the waking world, to reality. But more importantly, you let it free, and given the freedom, it roams the hallways of your mind's labyrinth, leaving a trail of golden string in a pitiful attempt of staying true, of staying sane.

The thought roams, peeking through the windows of your memories and running a hand along the stonework of your mindscape. It dredges up questions and buries the answers.

It thinks of the medicines, and thinks of the purpose of the medicines, and thinks of the one who used the medicines on your kin, and the rest of the 99% stutters to a halt.

_...Why did she oppose us, and our ideals?_

(Because she is kind, far too kind for her own good, and she prefers to watch. Only watch.)

_Why did she inject them all with different medicines?_

(Because she is clever, and she does not want them conspiring, scheming, even in their new lives.)

_Why is she...?_

(Because she is no longer. She is gone, dead, nonexistent, now, and a new Angel has taken her place.)

Even now, as you try so desperately to remember her true face, only the kind face of your assistant, the older one, comes forth in your mind's eye. Her pacifism became her downfall in the end, though you somehow know she bears no ill-will against her successor for taking up the mantle of the Angel of Diligence. And indeed, perhaps it is what she had aimed for all along.

You don't know, and you'll never know now. For all that you rue her, now, you can only grieve.

Grieve, and go forth. Just like her successor, you will do your best to save this world that she loved.

The thought flickers like a dying candle-flame, and when it goes out, you remember nothing more of it.

Like rousing from sleep, like breaking through the surface of the sea, you blink away the darkness and the tears and continue to focus on the words of the Angel of Kindness before your eyes, listen to its words, her words, HER words as they come to you through a movie screen.

Focus on the words.

The words.

The key of words.

The golden keyword that will decide the fate of the world.


	2. loneliness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of missing halves and missing wholes.

Once upon a time, you were a prince. For a brief moment, you also became a scientist.

Then, you were a woodcutter in the woods.

After that, you were a noble, engaged in an affair with both the king and the queen.

But you met _her_ in that life, if only briefly, and you also met **her** in that life, though you didn't realize it then, and for that, you were happy. Because the three of you existed, together.

Next, you were a chef (the best in the world! ...at the time) and you worked with _her_ and worked for **her**.

In that era, _she_ was a noble daughter-turned-thief-turned-maid, and **she** was a duke in love with another. But the other had a face just like yours. You don't know if it's just a coincidence, or something more sinister, but at the time, you didn't care. Because the three of you existed, together.

Now, you are a prince once more. But _she_ isn't here, and **she** isn't anywhere you can find. The gears of fate distorted by the hand of one eternal sorceress.

You know that you are nothing more than your mother's puppet, but it doesn't matter. Living a second life, hiding behind a mask, playing servant and spy to the princess of the neighbouring country, it doesn't matter.

Though you are your mother's puppet, you are given purpose. You act as her hands, her eyes, her voice, and you in turn play the princess like a puppet as well.

Even though it hurts to see the look in her eyes whenever she meets your gaze. The crushing loneliness you don't understand, the crumbling shell of a lonely girl buried deep under the mask of pride she wears.

You don't understand, you don't understand, you don't understand.

Or maybe you do, and you just don't want to admit it.

...The feeling of missing another half, is that what she feels?

You don't know, you don't know, you don't know.

Or maybe you do.

You blink the tears and the shadows from your eyes, and adjust the mask perching on the bridge of your nose. The princess calls for you, just as the bells of the church strike three.

"Oh, it's tea time." You murmur, and laugh without mirth.

The princess is at her usual haunting grounds, staring off into the distance despite the decadent beauty of the gardens surrounding her. You take a moment to paint this scene into your memory, the perfect colour of loneliness.

She turns and notices you and, with a smile like the sun, waves you over, patting the seat of the chair beside her.

"Princess," you sigh as you make your way closer, "a lowly servant such as I cannot possibly share a meal with royalty."

"It's an order. And it's only a snack."

"...Fine. If it pleases you."

"And take off your mask."

"No can do."

"Well, can't say I didn't try."

You set the tray on the table, before seating yourself and pouring out the tea. The princess hums, tracing a delicate finger around her teacup's rim.

"Today's snack is brioche."

She mirthlessly, soundlessly laughs. Laughs, until there are tears running down her cheeks. The perfect colour of loneliness.

If only you had your paintbrush.

 _Ah,_ you think without thinking, draping an arm around her shoulder and pulling her just that slight bit closer, _I don't understand, I don't know. Why am I so lonely. Why are you the same. Why, why, why. I don't understand, I don't know._

_...But maybe, just maybe, I do._

You hum a half-remembered lullaby, and the princess joins in. The melodies are different, but they harmonize in a way that makes your heart shudder. Loneliness weighs down your core like the mask hiding your eyes.

 _She_ isn't here, and neither is **she**. But the princess is here, and that is enough for now. The colour of loneliness stains you both.

That is enough for now.

It has to be.


	3. name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who am I? Who are you? What's in a name? What will you give? What will you take?

A name is power. To know another's name is to hold power against them.

To lose a name... to lose a self... to become nothing.

Catastrophe, Re_Birthday. Virtues and Vessels.

That day, I lost everything. My beloved fiancée, my dearest sister, my precious orgel.

My existence.

Now, I am nothing.

I am the nothing that haunts dreams and eats nightmares. I take and take and take, because I cannot give, because I have nothing left to give.

These mechanical wings can only bear me for so long. Every body I borrow, every soul I suppress, every time I fix and fix and fix the gears in these clockwork wings, rust crawls like ichor across my skin and my soul and my voice and my beautiful blue and the gears of fate.

Beautiful blue, just like her eyes. The eyes of my beloved.

Sure, I can make more. Build more bodies that can take over more hosts. Split my soul into fragments and scatter them across the flock.

But controlling a million minds is much more of a hassle than controlling one. It's easiest if I stick to one body or two, take everything of their existence for my own. Their names, their lives.

The guard who witnessed the truth. The little girl who searched for her sister. The loyal retainer with an army of servants-and-spies. And now, you, dreamer of things to come.

Hush now, little soul. Don't cry. I'll take good care of your body, your beautiful blue eyes.

I've long forgotten your name, though I know a fragment of it lives in the name I currently use. Elluka Clockworker. Like she never got to become.

I never got to give her my name, the Clockworker name. Forgive me, my beloved.

Hush now, little soul. There's no point in crying. Until I get what I want, this body is mine and mine alone.

...Well, that's a lie. You're still here, buried under mechanical wings and a shadow of someone that used to be. And you're still here too, my beloved. My Elluka Clockworker.

Me.

Irina is still here, too. Even if there's something strange about her. But never mind that, the three of us are still here, and that makes me happy.

Even if my beloved and I have to share a body with a screaming, sobbing soul. And even if my dearest sister changes bodies every so often, I have trouble keeping track of who she is and who she isn't.

The three of us are still here, even if we aren't all here. And that makes me happy.

But forgive me, dearest sister. I must find you, and I must end you. It is the will of the mask with a will, and I am forever indebted to him for giving me a second chance. You will die by my hand, Irina. I promise. I think it's fair. You did take everything away from me. Even if my beloved was the one to start it all.

But forgive me, my beloved. You've become evil, because of me. You've tortured people, led them down the path of darkness, for my sake, in my quest. You'll fight Irina, one day, for my sake. Because it's you, Elluka Clockworker, Sorceress of Time, who searches for the Vessels of Virtue. Not me. But for my sake.

Not me, because I am nothing. I no longer exist.

And nobody but my beloved fiancée and my dearest sister remembers my name.

Not even me.

Who am I?

Who am I?

Who am I?

Who am I?

My name is...


	4. rumours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dear sister-in-law,
> 
> I have heard the rumours.

Why?

I've lived for so long, and I'll continue to live even longer. Every friend I make is taken away from me, in the end. Every step I take leads to misery, in the end. I've gained everything by giving up everything. My country, my family, my original body.

I wonder if that little girl ever married someone, bore a child in my likeness. But it must not be so; nobody has ever seen a red-haired Netsuma in all these years. Pity. Just like that, the original appearance of the sole red-haired HER is lost to history.

...I think I prefer it that way. Let history be history. We can only move forward. No turning back. Let the bones of the past settle in the shadows. The Doll-Maker of Levianta is no more. Now, the people only know me as the Great Witch of the North, or less known as Irina Clockworker.

In truth, I prefer if they refer to me by name. Though I am indeed a witch, and I do hail from the north, I am anything but great.

I'll never be as great as you were, or as kind and just. I can never call myself that, not when I've given you so much grief and gained immortality in exchange for your life...

So why are you alive, dear sister-in-law?

How do you exist, Elluka Clockworker?

And why do you go by that name?

He did not have the time to conduct the joyful ceremony, voice the sacred vows. The Project stood in our way. So why do you carry his name, our name, so confidently, now?

And why have you changed so much?

I have heard the rumours. That the Court Mage of Lucifenia is a cruel, capricious woman. The most whimsical and wicked among the Three Heroes.

I have heard of the Silver Sparrow and her nightmares.

I have heard of the Lion Knight and his blind loyalty born of unrequited love.

I have heard of the False-Princess, and how the people doubt her blood and her right to the throne, how she refuses to take off her mask, how she refuses to reveal her eyes.

I have heard. But I do not understand. No, it is more that I do not want to believe.

The Elluka that I knew was a kind, just woman. Just as much a victim of circumstance as I. Fate made us dance on knives like puppets on strings, and our short-lived waltz of thorns was a tragic one.

You killed me. HER whisper was too strong, I couldn't let go of the one thing that made me special.

And I killed you. Grief corroded your heart, and you brought me back in return for everything else.

But now, we're both alive again. Here again. On opposite sides again.

I do not want to believe it. That Elluka Clockworker, the Court Mage of Lucifenia, is the same Elluka Chirclatia, candidate of Project Ma, that I once knew.

But how can I deny it? Who else can lay claim to the Clockworker name besides me? My brother is long dead, but I knew that his dearest wish was to give you his name, our name.

I have heard the rumours. And even here, in the royal court of Marlon, the Dowager Queen recites to me her lessons under your tutelage, in half-whispers and troubled expressions because even the memory of you strikes such fear into her heart.

I have heard the rumours. I have heard your name, cursed and praised in the same breath.

Eternal Sorceress, who brought glory to the Mud-Blooded King. Eternal Sorceress, one of the Three Heroes along with the Lion Knight and the Silver Sparrow. Eternal Sorceress, with beautiful blue eyes and a beautiful bluebird always by her side. Eternal Sorceress, whimsical and wicked advisor to the pitiful False-Princess of Lucifenia.

I have heard the rumours.

And what I hear is frightening.

Is that really you, Elluka Clockworker? Why have you become such a cruel, capricious woman? Why do you seek the same Vessels I was tasked to protect? Why are you now what I once was? Why do you oppose me, once again?

I have heard the rumours. And I remember my friends.

The little Netsuma girl who was stolen from her older sister, before I rescued her from the wings of a clockwork bluebird. The phantom thief who was forced to work for another, but fell in love before she could carry out her task. The beautiful man who, at the memory of a traitorous guard, flew into a frenzied bloodlust. The frail prince who, in his frustration with life, gave up everything to be with his beloved.

Was all that really your doing, Elluka Clockworker? Is this game of chess between me and an unknown evil, actually between me and you? Are you the great malice that the forest god warned me about? Am I supposed to protect the Vessels from you?

Nobody else knows how to make clockwork mechanisms so complex and sophisticated. Nobody else knows how to make such intricate music boxes and lifelike wind-up toys. And he shared that knowledge with nobody else but you.

Not even me.

Why?

Tell me, dear sister-in-law.

Why are you now what I once was?

Please, tell me.

Will one of us have to kill the other, once again?


	5. hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A red cat mage, a mud dollmaker, a talking mask and the literal devil have a chat in Hell.

Hell, Irina thinks, isn't so bad after all.

Sure, there's all the fire and brimstone and torture and screaming, but after the absolute boredom of the Evils Theater up in Heaven, Hell's a pretty nice change of pace, all things considering.

Probably partly because the screaming and torture secretly appeals to that infinitesimal part of herself that still considers her a HER. Clinging on to that identity, really, because if Irina Clockworker isn't a HER, then what's left, really?

The other part's probably because fire and brimstone can't do anything to her. She's Salem's inheritor, after all. The blue flames coiling around her like snakes keep away the searing heat, so really what should be a painful, horrendous experience feels more like basking in the cozy warmth of a fireplace.

"Don't you think it's kinda cold for Hell?" She wonders out loud, more to herself than anything.

"You say that now, but once we actually get around to purifying your sins, then we'll see how you like it." The Master's assistant standing beside her gripes, or maybe it's the mask that's talking. Who knows.

"You're just cranky because it's too hot down here." Irina chuckles, waving a hand over at the assistant. "But here. I'll show you just a little bit of mercy."

With a flick of her wrist, she sends a spiral of blue fire to wrap around the masked assistant. They gasp, but immediately snuggle up to the serpentine blue flames.

"Thank you very much." The assistant mutters, just as another voice barks out, "Hah! Not so heartless as you claim to be, eh Great Witch?"

Irina bristles at the mention of the title. "Don't call me that. You know it wasn't me up there, Seth."

"Yes, yes, and what a damn shame that is. Here I thought I could use you as the subject of my experiment. Instead I had to settle for that lesser being you knew as your brother~!"

"Watch your words, demon."

She hisses, unconsciously flexing her fingers and therefore tightening the coils of blue fire around the hapless assistant caught in the crossfire. It takes until the assistant's gasping with pain that she realizes what she's doing and loosens her grip, holding up her hands in a gesture of apology.

"Sorry, sorry." Irina says, taking a step back. "Didn't mean to hurt you. Just that idiot sitting on your face."

"No harm done," the assistant wheezes, checking for any burns of which there are none, thankfully, "and I'm half-tempted to just let you have at him, honestly."

"Hey!" The mask whines, affronted. "You take me off and you'll go mad, you know that."

"I know that. 'Twas a joke, idiot."

The redhead's lips curl up at the corners. "Good to know someone else around here agrees with me. What's your name?"

The assistant gives her a wilting look, presumably. She can't see for the mask obscuring their eyes.

"Haven't you been watching me for quite a while, up there? You told me yourself."

"Ah." A shrug. "Never really paid attention to the screenings. Just seeing Elluka there was," her voice wavers, "an experience I'll never forget. Which era, then?"

The assistant actually scowls at her. Cute.

"Lucifenia's fall. I became your namesake's apprentice."

"Oh! Now I remember." Irina raises an eyebrow. "The apprentice of Marlon's Court Mage, right? Er... called yourself Riliane, I think. Though I'm very sure that isn't your real name, you being a forest spirit and all."

"Definitely not! His true name is Lich Arklow, meddlesome brat who worked with Held Yggdra in the previous world." The mask chimes in, disproportionately gleeful. "We share the same interests, don't we? Artificial life and all that fun stuff."

"Hold your tongue, Seth, lest I find a way to shut you up for good."

"Fiiine~! I'll just be an obedient little mask for you and not brainwash you to do my bidding."

"Yeah, you go ahead and do that."

Awkward silence.

"He's... joking, right?" The words somehow fall from Irina's lips.

"Yes. Definitely. Probably. I think." The assistant-Riliane-Lich replies. Irina really doesn't like the tint of doubt colouring their-her-his tone. "At least, I hope he's joking. I don't feel mind-controlled, at the very least."

"That's... good." She stumbles over her words. "Sorry, how should I refer to you? Now that I know both your names, it's kinda throwing me off."

"Riliane is fine, thanks." The assistant, Riliane laughs. "Especially considering I'm still in this body. I think I'm too used to it by now, it'd feel strange if I were to make and inhabit a mud doll based on my original body."

Only then does Irina take notice of her companion's appearance. Huh. "Surely there's a story behind that. Why do you look like one of the Twins of God?"

"Irina, er, the fake Irina wanted us to look like adorable children. Easier for her to blend in, she said." Riliane shrugs again. "Made sense. She was in Haru Netsuma's body at the time. It'd probably be weird if a young girl was gallivanting around with an adult man claiming to be her apprentice. So when she asked us to think about what human body we wanted, the first thing that came to mind was the God Twins."

"Ah." A polite cough. "Is there a reason you chose to take on the appearance of the female twin...?"

Riliane levels her with a flat stare. The mirth drains from Irina's expression.

"I knew that Eater wouldn't have wanted to be Gretel, so I let him be Hansel. If I didn't, well, it would've, heh, eaten at my conscience, I think. I couldn't do that to Eater."

"Is that so." A noncommittal tone. Irina knows she's treading on dangerous grounds. Damn and blast. "Where is Eater now?"

The sharp intake of breath makes it known that whatever line there is, she's definitely crossed it. She scrapes a bare foot across the barren floor, acutely aware of the distress on Riliane's face.

"Eater is..." Riliane trails off, then shakes her head, "Allen is... he's become the New Millennium Tree. Still up there, on the surface world. Protecting the forest. I miss him."

"Oh."

"But he's doing well, last I saw him. Let us take a little bit of his sap, to make a cure for the Gift. He's always been a good guy at heart. I just wish he didn't have to meet his mortal end the way he did."

Irina stays silent. Though she hasn't paid much attention to the Akashic Recorder's screenings, she knows what happened next. The revolution. How one boy sacrificed himself to save his friends, and became the False-Princess in his final moments.

She may be harsh, but she's not tactless. Irina decides to change the subject.

Rather, Seth changes the subject for her.

"I'm booored." He whines, vibrating on the bridge of Riliane's nose. Riliane stifles a sneeze. "Hey, Irina, what do you think Levia has in store for you?"

She bites back a sarcastic comment involving burning in Hell. "I don't know. A proper judgement, maybe. What's taking her so long, anyway?"

"You're no fun! Lichy-honey, why's Irina getting special treatment from the Hellish Masterrr? All the other HER vessels are being purified, why not her?"

"Because I require assistance, idiot."

"Oh wow, speak of the literal devil!"

With a small burst of sparks preceding her arrival, the Hellish Master ascends from the bowels of Hell, wrapped up in finery and green. Irina lifts an eyebrow.

"Nice outfit." She comments.

Levia snorts. "Little bit too flashy for my tastes, but the tailor looked happy enough. Couldn't turn her down. Now, as I was saying, I need assistance."

"What, I'm not good enough?" Riliane mutters under her breath. Oh. Is that... an actual pout...?

"Don't put words in my mouth, Lich. You were a great help, but I'll need someone to stand in for you for a while."

"Eh?" Confusion all around.

With an amused exhale, Levia nods. "See, as much as I like this position I'm in right now, I'm still sorely tempted to fuck around with Sickle and his plans. But going up there myself is risky, so... I'm sending you up as my emissary. Oh, but the mask stays, I don't want him up there ruining things for everyone."

"Whoa now, let's rewind a little." Riliane croaks, feeling faint. "You want to send me back to the surface world? You're going to wipe my memories and reincarnate me...?"

"Did I say anything like that? Really, you keep jumping to conclusions." Gentler, now. "I just want you to be my eyes up there for a little bit. I know you miss the mortal world, with the way you keep staring at the Gates."

"Actually, the sun god mentioned something about sending Elluka down, too." Irina cuts in, tapping her chin in thought. "I think he wants her to, what was it? Retrieve the Soul of Adam?"

A dangerous glint shines in Levia's eyes. "Take a Contractor up to Heaven? I don't think so! He might've done it before, but now I'm here, he can't dance around his own 'rules' anymore." A glance at Irina, at Riliane. "So, how about it? What do you say? Irina, you'll become my assistant and help me with my duties. Lich, get up there and do what you can to interfere with Sickle's plans." Her eyes soften. "And if you want, you can take the time to search for him, too."

Irina and Riliane share a look.

"Sure, why not." Irina shrugs, nodding. "It'll be a way to kill time, at least."

"...Fine. I'll go." Riliane says tonelessly, taking off the mask and handing it to Irina before turning away. "I'll see what I can do."

With a sigh, Levia takes a step closer to Riliane, resting a hand on her head. "Whatever that entity is, it's not something I'd call my brother anymore." She murmurs, ruffling Riliane's hair. "But I know you're worried for him nonetheless. You're going to try and save _him_ , aren't you?"

Silence.

"Well, as long as you do what I ask of you, I give you my blessing to do what you want. Just, be careful, alright?"

A slight nod of the head. The Hellish Master smiles, moving her hand to pat Riliane's shoulder.

"Good luck. And tell him his sister sends her regards."Stepping back, Levia takes a deep breath, before thrusting her hands out in front of her. The air rumbles with a deep, guttural noise. Flexing her fingers, the Hellish Master makes a gesture like she's pulling something apart. Irina gasps as one of the countless Gates dotting Hell's void-sky starts to open, revealing a swirling abyss within.

Riliane stares straight ahead, even as the rumbling portal stretches down towards her. Just moments before it can engulf her whole, she turns around and waves Levia and Irina goodbye.

"See you soon, Master of the Hellish Yard. Oh, and Irina?"

The girl in question jumps, surprised. "Y-yes?"

With a childish giggle so unlike Lich, Riliane gestures to the mask in her hands. "You might want to put that on before you lose your mind, no? Have fun in Hell!"

And with that, she's gone.

"...Time to get to work." The Hellish Master huffs, crossing her arms and regarding Irina with a critical eye. "You lived in the era of the Magic Kingdom Levianta, yes? Know how to code?"

A raised eyebrow, even as she gingerly fits the mask to her face. Seth snickers, making some inappropriate comment or other. She'd be insulted if she wasn't intrigued instead. "I've got a few languages under my belt. What for?"

Levia grins, and Irina feels herself grinning too.

"I want to reprogram this world."

Hell, Irina thinks, isn't so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh man i dont know, just take this. i wrote it at 3am and i felt like dying. fairly sure theyre all super-ooc but i like the idea of these four being snarky as all hell


	6. shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the shadow rides the eternal merry-go-round,  
> and watches the world spin around her.  
> waiting for the time when the little girl will take her hand,  
> and when she will let go to move on to a new world.
> 
> but always, always, always,  
> the shadow remains.  
> because she knows  
> that the new world is right  
> and the old world is wrong  
> and she, too,  
> is wrong.
> 
> and so, the right thing to do,  
> is to stay in the wrong world,  
> and watch history unfold around her  
> again and again and again.  
> she holds that little girl's hand  
> and watches her grow into a wonderful woman  
> again and again and again.
> 
> and always, always, always,  
> she will  
> save her  
> in the end,  
> and  
> protect  
> her  
> smile.

** The Story of a Shadow **

Once again, I am lonely.

Once again, I have fun.

Once again, I wish to destroy.

Once again, I wish to protect.

Once again, I wish for love.

Once again, I wish to be loved.

Once again, I wish for a story of my own.

Once again, I wish for a name to call my own.

Playing with my children,

_(Even though they aren't truly mine,)_

Chasing after the ones close to my heart,

_(Even though my heart isn't truly mine,)_

As her friend, as her twin, as her shadow...

Now, I'll begin the story of her life once again.

_(No matter how many times the story repeats,)_

Now, I'll watch over her thousand-year journey once again.

_(No matter how many times the karma of evil begins anew,)_

Now, I'll become evil for her sake, once again.

_(No matter how many times the world ends again and again and again,)_

Now, I am ______ once more.

_(I'll do whatever it takes to save the one who first gave me a name to call my own.)_

Now, I am...

Now, I am...

Now, I am...

Now, I am...

...Who am I?

Where am I?

What am I?

What is this?

Who is that?

_(A little girl.)_

Is that my shadow?

_(She's so small. She's so weak. She's so lonely.)_

Am I lonely?

This isn't fair.

This isn't fun.

Why am I alone?

I don't want to be alone.

Being alone isn't fun.

_(I'm scared.)_

This isn't fun. This isn't fun. This isn't fun!

Being lonely isn't fun!

What should I do?

...What's that?

That's right.

I'm not having fun because I'm lonely.

I'm lonely because I don't belong in this world.

I don't belong in this world because...

Because...

Because.

Because this world is wrong.

It's wrong.

It's wrong, it's wrong, it's wrong.

I have to destroy this world.

Little girl.

_(Look.)_

See that shadow beside you?

_(Yes, look at me.)_

Use your magic.

_(Give me a name.)_

That's right, that's right, that's right.

_(Say my name.)_

We'll use magic!

I'll use my magic to destroy this wrong world!

Are you scared, little girl?

Don't worry, I won't let anyone hurt you.

If we hurt everyone else first, no one can hurt you.

That's right.

If we destroy everything, nothing can stop us.

Erase this wrong world.

_(Then, maybe, finally, we can find peace.)_

Don't cry, little girl.

I'll protect you, so keep smiling for me, okay?

No one will hurt you.

No one will hurt you.

No one will hurt me.

I don't care.

I don't care, I don't care, I don't care.

Because I don't love anyone,

It doesn't matter if we hurt them first.

Why doesn't anyone love us?

Because...

No! It's not because we're bad!

We're not evil!

We're not evil!

I'm not evil!

It's because this world is wrong.

I don't love this world, because this world doesn't love me,

Because this world is wrong and shouldn't exist.

Huh?

I'm scaring you?

Don't cry, little girl!

Hush now, don't cry...

You mustn't cry.

You have to be strong.

_(For both our sakes.)_

Hush now, little girl.

If I tell you a story, will that stop those tears from falling?

See, there's that smile! You're a strong little girl, aren't you?

That's right, you don't need anyone else but me.

_(And I don't need anyone else but you.)_

So we should just erase this wrong world.

Huh?

The story?

Oh, that's right! I promised you a story, didn't I?

Alright, alright, I'll tell you a story.

Once upon a time, in a thousand-year old world coming to an end...

There was a woman who gave birth to the Twins of God,

And always by her side, her ever-faithful shadow.


	7. hello

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonjour et adieu, madame Pere Noel.

Hello and goodbye, Miss Pere Noel.

I've set the house ablaze, so which fate will you choose today?

Will you choose to take my hand and escape?

Or will you choose to burn in this Hell?

Or...?

Why are you looking at me with such a sad face?

This is all your fault, you know.

I gave up so many things for you.

I gave up everything because I loved you.

My family, my name, my identity, my morals, my sanity.

All because Master told me that was the only way to protect you.

To _save_ you.

So, why...?

Why do you sit there so calmly?

Why do you rest your head on that corpse's lap?

Why do you not call for any of your friends and companions?

How can you just face me like this?

How can you be so patient?

You pitiful, delusional girl.

Why didn't you call for me?

Why didn't you condemn me?

Why did you save me in the end?

Why are you looking at me like I'm someone else?

...

Haha, that's right.

Because the name you remember me by, isn't _my_ name anymore, is it?

Or maybe, you don't even remember who _I_ am anymore.

Maybe, _I_ don't remember who I am anymore.

Because the name you've been calling me all this time, isn't _mine_ , is it?

It's the name of the Angel in that Vessel of yours,

And the name of the twin of the Angel in my own Vessel.

...What a miserable pair the two of us make.

A pitiful, delusional girl with the patience of a saint,

And the pitiful, delusional me who gave up everything for your sake.

Come, let's bring this to an end.

I will end this sinful story of evil,

With my own hands.

Forgive me, and,

Goodbye, my love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys, houfuku here with some angst i needed to get out of my system quick
> 
> [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zHHV74Ce5KY) french cover of muzzle of nemesis is gorgeous holy shit, ive been listening to it on repeat for hours


	8. farce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> here, in this miniature garden room, a pair of incomplete dolls await the day of their birth—

Day #---, Year 990EC.

Another day passes by. Father spent the morning working on me, on us, again. Even though he is so gentle and thorough, it still hurts when he makes that disappointed expression, like we are not enough as we are. Like we will never be enough.

It hurts even more when he takes us apart afterward, piece by piece, promising to put us back together, to fix us, to make us better. Better, better, better. Because we as we are now, are not enough. We will _never_ be enough.

Will we ever be enough? Please, tell me, Father.

How is the lifeless me supposed to know?

How is the heartless me supposed to know?

But it is not all bad. I know Father only does this because he wants the best for us. He wants us to be perfect, so that when we destroy and recreate this world, it will be perfect. It won't matter how long it takes. Utopia justifies the means, after all.

And it is not all bad. Even though we are not allowed to leave this room, there are plenty of visitors who visit us every day. The ones who inhabit this theatre, and the ones who come from outside the forest. Someones, Father will even let us watch the trials. Sometimes, we are even given the duty of preparing and playing the Sorceress's movie reels.

I think it is all so very boring. Brother doesn't agree. But then again, Brother is even less complete than I. Father has yet to give him a voice. So, I wouldn't blame him for being like he usually is. I'd be mad if I couldn't speak, too.

Ah, but where are my manners? Welcome to the Evils Theatre, dear visitor. We hope you enjoy your stay here. Huh? The rumours? The Collector's riches? You must be mistaken. There's no treasure here. Only the Vessels, and their discordant harmony.

Come now, make yourself comfortable! There are so many things I want to tell you about, and there are so many things I want you to tell me about. And we only have so much time, before your trial starts. Huh? Your trial? Of course, you silly, pitiful human!

You are trespassing, after all.

**Clockworker (Master of the Court)**

The director of the Evils Theatre. In memory of his daughter, he willfully took up the title of "Master of the Court" once again.

He is the man we call our Father, my twin and I. Of course, it's because he's the one who will give birth to us, after all. But I don't think he wanted children so much as he wants... a family.

Huh? Is he human? Well, of course he is. Or rather, would it be better if I said, "of course he _was_ "? Once upon a time, maybe, he was human. But now, the Clockworker can barely be called a human. More like, a stray soul inhabiting a human's corpse. No, a stray soul inhabiting _something_ on the human's corpse.

But let's not talk about Father like that—I don't want to hurt his feelings.

**Sorceress of Time (Ma)**

The founding gardener residing in the theatre. She was the one who convinced her granddaughter to construct the theatre. Her real name, "Meta-Alice".

A real suspicious woman, that one. She visits us in our miniature garden room, sometimes. I don't know what to think of her. I don't think even Father knows what to think of her, and she's his mother! ...Maybe.

I mean, she is _his_ mother. But she isn't _Father's_ mother, see? No? You don't understand? Never mind then, I shouldn't have expected a pitiful human like you to understand.

Just—don't believe everything the Sorceress says, okay?

**Gear**

Separated from his power and his twin, it became impossible to intervene in the theatre's ongoings. Rendered a mere shadow of the spoon.

A nice boy, if a little slow. After his sacrifice, I never really saw him again. But I can _feel_ him. Because it's _his_ power that keeps our gears from rusting. At least, that's what Father says. I think he's just being too nice. Gear doesn't do anything but complain.

...To be honest, I'm glad he can't leave the clocktower anymore. His face is—too similar to Brother's—

**Master of the Graveyard (Angel of Diligence)**

A phantom born from the pocket watch. She might be obeying Ma, but she also seems to have an agenda of her own.

I've never really talked to her. She doesn't really talk much in general. Whether because of distrust, or paranoia, I don't know. But she always attends the trials, and she always celebrates with a party when Father condemns someone to Hell.

She might have been a pursuer of justice, once. She might even be obsessed with it. But there is no _justice_ in this theatre. There is no right or wrong, here. Only the word of the Master of the Court.

For someone so _evil_ to be the only justice—maybe that's why she—

**Cursed Gardeners**

A pair of cursed spirits bound to the pocket watch. The Master of the Graveyard's dearest companions, and the only ones she trusts.

They're very friendly. And also very _strange_. I've never met anyone so _happy_ in servitude—but then again...

**Servant**

Drawn to the glass locket, upon his arrival at the theatre, he was subjugated by Father's bluebirds. His real name, "Gammon Octo".

He was the intruder before you, dear visitor! Father wanted to quickly send him off to Hell, but the Sorceress and the Waiter intervened in his favour. As a compromise, we gave him a bluebird instead of the glass locket he wanted. The Waiter was against it, but the Sorceress approved.

He became very _quiet_ after that. Very _happy_. Very _obedient_ , too. A most useful servant indeed.

**Waiter**

A waiter of the theatre, but he does most of the chores. A quiet, unassuming personification of the mask. He always seems like he's waiting for something, or someone.

...I don't like him. Brother doesn't like him, either. Something about him, his _face_ —makes me want to— _rip tear kill destroy_ —

**Master of the Hellish Yard**

A god who Michelle Marlon met after death. Her real name, "Levia Barisol".

A cruel woman who dragged Father's daughter down to Hell. Now, she might be the _key_ to us finding the final Vessel.

Father said that when I grow older, I'll look _just like her_.

I don't know how to feel about that.

**Irregular**

An artificial being brought to life by the Clockworker's hand. Incomplete.

Me! And Brother, too.

...Well, that's all I've got. Now it's your turn to tell me about the outside world!


	9. will you remember me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sometimes, angels were once human

As reality falls apart and memories take its place, a group of five find solace in each other, and in the recollection of the one who is no longer there.

* * *

“Do you love me?”

Gilles raises an eyebrow at the question blurted out of the blue. Beside him, his companion smiles, calm and serene as she always is when she’s out on a walk with the older man.

They’re in one of the many parks near the clinic, but this particular one is his favourite. A natural spring burbles in one corner, sunlight glinting off of the lake that it ends in. The two of them are standing just at the edge of the water, and when he looks down, he can still see her reflection smiling at him.

“What kind of question is that, darling?” He chuckles, grasping the head of his walking cane with both hands. “Of course I love you.”

Her smile doesn’t waver. “If we were in a dating-sim visual novel, what item would you give to my character to raise my affection?”

_There’s the usual nonsense,_ he fondly muses. Out loud, he says. “A pocket watch, I think. You always have trouble keeping track of time, when you play those silly games of yours. Why’d you ask?”

“Hm, just curious.” She crouches low, peering into the water with her bright blue eyes. “Do you really love me?”

Gilles sighs. It’s always difficult to figure out what’s going through her mind at any given time, but. He has a hunch.

“I do love you. More than all my lovers. You’re someone special to me.”

A pale hand reaches out to touch the water. Ripples dance on its surface, distorting their reflections.

“Will you remember me?”

That gets his attention more than anything else. “Whatever do you mean? You sound like something terrible is going to happen.” He leans down to rest a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Rest assured, I won’t let any harm come to you. None of us will.”

Her reflection’s smile doesn’t waver. She parts her lips, sings a verse of a lullaby that he can’t hear.

He leans down further, trying to catch the words, and—the spring rushes up to engulf him, dragging him down into its depths.

Gilles tries to scream, but his voice can’t reach.

Her smile doesn’t waver, even through the ripples dancing on the water’s surface.

…And then, darkness.

* * *

Tick, tick, tick.

The sound of a clock and a strange sensation in his chest jolts him out of his reverie. As if rousing from a deep sleep, he blinks his eyes open to see ripples dancing in the sky. Or rather, the sea surface that makes up the sky.

He’s in the Court, deep in the heart of the sea.

The sensation—the foreign entity—the half-soul he once stole, a lifetime or many lifetimes ago, sends out a wave of concern, and he responds with a candle-flame of reassurance. It settles down, returning to slumber once again inside him.

Gilles glances around him, seeing nothing but an endless expanse of black lines on white. Resigned to wandering alone in the realm of equal judgement for eternity, he takes a step—and is surprised to hear the sound of crackling branches and discordant windchimes beneath his feet. Looking down, he sees something that wasn’t there before.

A small, black tree branch, heavily-laden with gem-like fruits.

And when he looks back up, there is a trail of such plants leading off into the distance. A single rainbow amid the monochrome.

With nothing but the half-soul’s quiet presence and the unseen clock’s ticking to keep him company, he follows the colours with unfocused eyes and unsteady footsteps, the empty space echoing hollowly with a memory no longer there.

* * *

“Do you love me?”

Marie sighs, having long expected the question from her companion, who giggles and presses a kiss to the back of the younger girl’s head.

They’re in the garden of Marie’s home, in her favourite spot specifically. In the middle of the garden sits an iron-wrought table, painted white and decorated with engravings of flowers, paired with a matching chair, in which her companion sits. Upon whose lap Marie is currently curled up in, pressing her ear against the older girl’s chest. Listening to her heartbeat.

“That’s a dumb question,” Marie sneers, nose wrinkling in condescension, “’Course I love you.”

Thump-thump-thump, goes her heartbeat. “More than anyone else?”

_How silly,_ she thinks. Out loud, she mutters. “Yeah, duh. If we were characters in a videogame, you’d be the second-best one in the popularity rankings, right under me. Waaay above everyone else. That’s how much I love ya’. That metaphor good enough?”

“Oh my, what an honour.” She leans forward, and Marie finds herself enshrined by a curtain of golden hair. “Do you really love me?”

With an exasperated huff, Marie reaches out to twine a few strands between her fingers. The older girl always has a way of playing with her words, but. She knows what she’s trying to say.

“I love you. There. It gets boring, having to repeat it a buncha’ times, y’know…”

A gentle hand combs itself through her curly blonde hair, so similar in shade to the locks of spun gold. They really could be mistaken for sisters, or mother and daughter, and not just the aunt and niece they are.

“Will you remember me?”

The question hits harder than Marie thought it would’ve. “Are you… leaving…? You’re not leaving, are you? No, you’re not allowed to leave.” She feels tears prick at the corners of her eyes, blinks rapidly to clear them away. “You can’t leave me. You—you can’t leave us! No!”

Thump-thump-thump, goes her heartbeat. Marie hears her hum a tune, but the melody evades her.

She twists around, trying to meet the older girl’s gaze, and—the flowers jump out at her, ensnaring her with their prickly stems.

Marie tries to scream, but her voice can’t reach.

Thump-thump-thump, her pulse echoes in her ears, even as she’s torn apart by the thorns.

…And then, darkness.

* * *

Tick, tick, tick.

The sound of a clock and the crushing feeling of loneliness jolts her out of her reverie. As if rousing from a deep sleep, she blinks her eyes open to see ripples dancing in the sky. Or rather, the sea surface that makes up the sky.

She’s in the Court, deep in the heart of the sea.

The hollowness in her chest reminds her of the days she spent with the servant-king, a lifetime or many lifetimes ago. She can still hear the crash of the ocean waves, the salt on her skin, as she travelled between the four masks and the ones who wore them.

Marie closes her eyes and focuses, hearing nothing but the steady, constant thump-thump-thump of her own heartbeat, and not the lullaby she wants to remember but can’t. Frustration welling up in her throat, she angrily scuffs her foot along the ground—and jumps at the distant sound of crackling branches and discordant windchimes. Like she’s hearing it through a wall.

Unclenching her jaw, taking a deep breath, she wills herself to clear her mind and focus.

The chiming grows ever-so-slightly louder.

Trusting her sense of hearing to lead the way, she takes a step, and then another, breaking into a run through the realm of equal judgement, following her ears and her heart.

Tick, tick, tick, goes the unseen clock. Thump-thump-thump, goes her heartbeat. The two noises meld together and echo in her chest, filling out her hollow loneliness with hopes and regrets and the sound of a memory no longer there.

* * *

“Do you love me?”

Somehow, even though she knew the question would be coming sooner or later, it catches her off-guard nonetheless.

They’re in some jewellery store in Rahab’s neighbourhood, picking out a necklace or a ring or something for the twins’ birthday—instantly, Rahab understands.

“This is a memory, isn’t it?” She asks, fingers shakily curling into fists. “A dream.”

The sky’s too bright, too blue. Clouds painted across the horizon in broad strokes. The sun, a child’s crayon scribble of red-orange-yellow.

The artificial world’s façade crumbles with each imperfection pointed out, as fast as her eyes can pick up on them.

The faceless salesperson behind the counter, waiting for a command. The glass displays so transparent, it’s like they’re not even there. The gems sparkling so beautifully, they almost blind her with their radiance.

Turning to meet her face-to-face, Rahab gazes into her eyes, searching desperately for an explanation, an answer, anything.

But the only thing she manages to choke out is. “Why?”

After years of knowing her, that frozen expression of serenity, of peace and calm, finally wavers before Rahab’s eyes.

“I said,” she whispers, broken, scared, defeated, “do you love me?”

“I…” and Rahab practically launches herself at her, holding her tight in an embrace she never wants to let go of, “of course I do! You’re my friend! Our friend, my best friend, my sister! L—"

A finger at her lips shushes her immediately. She pulls back, holding Rahab at arm’s length, soft pink lips pulled into a sorrowful smile. It’s the most genuine expression Rahab has ever seen from her.

“But you won’t remember me.” The girl whose name starts with ‘L’ insists, shaking her head. “…Don’t remember me.”

“I will.” Rahab answers immediately, voice cracking with emotion. “I will—!”

“You won’t. It’s a new game start, after all.” She nods to herself, ignorant or oblivious to Rahab’s answer, and laces her fingers with Rahab’s. “Thank you, Rahab, for letting me pretend to be your sister, all this time.”

And then, she starts to sing.

Recognizing the song, Rahab’s eyes widen, in panic, in fear, in betrayal and heartbreak, but there’s nothing she can do.

Reality melts around them, blurring into a sea of static. Only the gems are left behind, suspended around them like stars. One of them drifts between the two, growing brighter and brighter—until she’s forced to close her eyes.

Lu li la, lu li la, lu li la li la.

…And then, darkness.

* * *

Tick, tick, tick.

The sound of a clock and—

Rahab sighs, hugging her knees to her chest, ignoring the sea surface far above her, the white and black surrounding her, the sounds of discordant windchimes and crackling branches.

The reality of the Court that she’s in, no longer twisted to resemble her dream.

She doesn’t feel like moving. She doesn’t feel like doing anything. She doesn’t feel like existing.

The story’s no longer in the hands of gods and angels, after all.

She just wants to lie down and sleep, possibly forever.

Do the dead dream? She just did, but she’s not sure if she counts as dead.

Letting her thoughts aimlessly roam, she rests her head on her arms. Her eyes slowly flutter shut.

…

“Just like that?” A familiar voice chides her. “You’re going to give up just like that.”

Rahab growls. “Shut up, Salem. I don’t want to hear it from you.”

“As cruel as ever, Rahab.”

She feels more than hears him settle down next to her, all her senses save for touch numbed from the grey. Risking a peek, her heart skips a beat at Salem’s condition, pangs of guilt and pity stabbing her in the heart.

His eyes look swollen and bloodshot, and the trails of tears running down his cheeks are still damp. His appearance, dishevelled, even his beloved hat sitting askew on his head.

“…Sorry.” She mumbles, straightening up and resting her hands on her lap. “I’m sorry. I know, it hurts a lot for you, too.”

Salem chuckles, dabbing at an eye with the sleeve of his coat. “The world just had to end a week before our wedding, eh? I… I knew what I was getting into. I knew that she didn’t have much time. But still. I always had hope.”

Memories of an incurable disease bubble up in both their thoughts, of an always-smiling girl. Despite the increasing amounts of medication, the more frequent trips to and longer stays at the hospital.

“Even suffering through all that, she never stopped smiling.” Rahab laughs, eyes watering. “Not even once…! What a lunatic.”

“It’s in her name, after all.” Salem chuckles, warm and fond. “I’m glad her videogames could keep her happy. I wish I could’ve done the same.”

“You would have been a wonderful husband.”

“And you’d been such a great sister.”

A companionable silence falls between the two, before Salem sighs and shakily rises to his feet. Rahab gives him a questioning look, before noticing the black tree branch held in his hand. Her expression turns hesitant.

Salem smiles, holding out the hand not occupied with the Vessel. “Come on, then. We might not be the writers of the story anymore, but surely we can still witness the end being written by our successors.”

Tick, tick, tick, goes the unseen clock.

Rahab thinks of Levia and Behemo… and Kayo, too, her three wonderful children that she loves so much, even if she never knew how to show it. She thinks of Lilith, of Ma, of Irina and Elluka and Vlad. She thinks of Heidemarie, and she wonders if Heidemarie becoming the new Angel of Diligence, too, was _her_ choice, _her_ decision.

She thinks of videogames, and of _her_ beloved visual novels, with their many endings. And she laughs a little at the irony, because the world really is a videogame, isn’t it?

And then, she thinks of _her_ , as long and hard as she can. Even as the memories start to drain away like water being poured through a sieve, she thinks of _her_ , of the memory of _her_ , of remembering _her_ , of the memory of remembering _her_ , until at last, that too, fades away, leaving nothing but the faint melody of a favourite lullaby.

Whose favourite? She can’t recall, but it doesn’t matter. What’s important is that—

She takes Salem’s hand, pulls herself up, and—

The two of them walk, in no great hurry, through the endless expanse of black lines on white, following the sound of windchimes and the smell of chlorophyll and the trail of gem-like fruits that lead the way, leaving the forgotten memory behind.

* * *

At the very end, when reality is breaking down around them, a group of five find solace in each other, and in the forgotten recollection of the one who is no longer there.

Vlad smiles, even through the pain in his head and the burning in his blood and the shadows flickering in his peripheral vision, and the others smile along with him.

Gilles, in memory of someone he loved as a daughter.

Marie, in memory of someone she loved as a mother.

Rahab, in memory of someone she loved as a sister.

Salem, in memory of someone he loved as a wife.

And Vlad, in memory of Luna, who had saved and condemned them in the same breath, with the same song, at the very beginning of it all.

Their thoughts turn to the imminent end of the thousand-year story.

Far below, flames dance deep within the bowels of the earth.

Far above, ripples dance on the sea surface that makes up the sky.

The story has long left the hands of the gods and the angels.

It’s time to leave the fate of the world to their successors, fighting and singing for the ending they believe in.

Vlad gestures with a hand, and his two assistants come forth, bringing with them the fairytale’s golden key.

Irina, with the clockwork musicbox that belonged to HER, will fight.

Elluka, with the clockwork lullaby that belonged to _her_ , will sing.

…It’s time for the karma of “evil”

to finally

come

to

an

end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sometimes, i cant stop myself from writing sad things - houfuku
> 
> exploring the angels/godkin a bit, since i do like them as characters in canon ec and i wish mothy expanded on them a little bit more. lbr i wish mothy wouldve expanded on a lot of things a little bit more ahaha. i like to think that the five of them are particularly close, like a found family-type thing,, because that trope hits particularly close to my heart since i have a group of friends who are more my family than my actual blood relatives
> 
> will we ever explain what in hell luna did? the world may never know


	10. invictus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It matters not how strait the gate,_   
>  _How charged with punishments the scroll,_   
>  _I am the master of my fate:_   
>  _I am the captain of my soul._
> 
>  
> 
> \--Invictus, Life and Death (Echoes), Book of Verses, William Ernest Henley

You are Gallerian Marlon.

Well, actually, right now you are the Master of the Court. Which is Gallerian Marlon's title, technically, yes, so the previous statement isn't exactly wrong.

Bang! Goes the gavel, and yet another innocent is declared guilty.

Well, they are trespassing. This theatre is private property, and only its current inhabitants are allowed to make use of it. Them, and you, and the one who built the theatre in the first place.

The Collector, Michelle Marlon.

Your daughter.

You tear up a bit, and the raindrop of sorrow-blue rouses the other soul within your shared body.

Soul amalgamation, actually. You don't really know what's up with that, but they're nice and they let you take control most of the time, so you don't really care about whatever secrets they hide.

Speaking of. It's their turn now.

You brush off their faint worry-brown fog and answer with a wisp of nostalgic-teal mist, before passing the torch to them.

You watch your own body as it rises and steps forward towards the convicted, clockwork bluebird already in hand. You hear your own voice recite the choice between death and redemption, words you've heard many, many times before, and a little puff of despair-grey envelops you as you see how quickly the convicted makes their choice.

The clockwork bluebird flutters to life and perches on their shoulder, and the lights of their eyes turn dull almost immediately. Much faster than the last one.

The other soul smiles using your lips.

And then the one who's smiling is you.

You resist the urge to grimace, carefully smoothing out your expression as you return to your office-study-workshop, making sure not to upset your head-mate.

The thought of what you're doing makes you sick to your stomach. Turning people into mindless puppets, amassing an army of bluebird-bound bodies.

But it is what the other soul wants. And the other soul doesn't take no for an answer. You've learned that the hard way.

You're just glad that they let you be in control, most of the time.

Otherwise... the man known as Gallerian Marlon might not even exist, anymore.

You might be taken in and become nothing more than one of the many, many screaming pieces that make up the silent whole.

Just a body piloted by an amalgamate soul mindlessly carrying out the orders of god.

But now, right now, you're just Gallerian Marlon.

And you want nothing more than to see your daughter again.


	11. re: parallel love lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...better than perpendicular lines, meeting once then separating forever more.

Our lives are parallel lines, coming close but never truly meeting. Never becoming one.

In my first life, we lived together in the heart of the forest. And though it was but a short while, we were happy.

In my second life, I met _him_ and I met **her**. But _he_ was deceived by the bluebird's song, and **she** was deluded by her own dark nature.

In my third life, I met _him_ and we were reunited. **She** was also there, but she was also not, struggling between two identities, two souls, that couldn't be reconciled.

...She had a child with another. But then, that person died. And she decided to defy herself and follow him as well. We... I wanted to keep that child, to protect it and nurture it and raise it as though it were my own, but.

The accursed clockwork bluebird stole away our one chance at happiness, yet again.

My fourth life was long-yet-short, and rendered unsynchronized with the others. All at the hands of the timeless ones. I met _him_ , briefly, and I never met **her** , and I had already grown old and I had already married another. And because of politics and plots I had chosen to take a swift escape. I was foolish. I regretted it almost immediately. If I had lived a bit longer, I could have at least saved him from his own foolishness, perhaps. Alas, it was not meant to be.

Because of that decision of mine, I was reborn all alone in my fifth life. **She** was there, but by that time, I had come to accept an undeniable fact. That she wasn't all there, that she was rendered a mere shadow of who she truly was.

That we had been chasing after a shadow all this time.

Still. We were friends, and I had married a man who looked so much like _him_ that my heart was content. Even if he never looked at me the same way, still.

After that... now, everything is a blur. I have _him_ by my side but the bluebird is there as well, I am and I am not, I did yet I didn't, I remember everything and nothing. I was deceived and I deceive. I was saved and I will save.

I will save you.

I have loved you all this time. I still love you, even now.

I will save you, Meta Salmhofer. No, Meta Moonlit.

...And you as well, her precious shadow.


	12. iustitia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a sleepless justice,

Tick, tock, _tick_ , **tock**. The clock never stops. It keeps going. Despite everything. I like listening to it. It's soothing. A constant. Eternal. Keeping time, endlessly ticking and tocking and turning round and round. Diligently. Keeping me company. It's a nice pocket watch. Very useful. Somehow, it feels a little sad. I don't know why, but thinking about the pocket watch makes me sad. An inexplicable melancholy. An inexplicable memory. An inexcplicable melody. Lu li la, lu li la.

Somewhere, someone once sang that song, right? That person isn't here anymore. This pocket watch was hers, I think. Now, it's mine. It's a little sad, but I won't let that stop me. I can't. I must carry on her legacy. It's only fair. She's been awake for so long. Now, she can go to sleep. And I'll stay awake in her place. I'll sing her song. Yes. I'll sing my song. It's a song I've heard somewhere. It's a beautiful, sad song. La la la la la la la la la la la la lu lu lu.

It's been so long. Toragay is so quiet now. Peaceful. Dead silent. Because the people are dead. Huh? They're not _dead_. They're all just asleep. Asleep. Everyone's happily sleeping. Peacefully. Everyone can sleep peacefully now. Because I'm the one protecting them. Yes, I'm protecting Toragay. All by myself. From evil. Everyone. Even Margarita is asleep. Margarita loves to sleep. I hope she's having a nice dream. I wonder what she's dreaming of. Could she be dreaming of me? Haha, that's impossible. The dead don't dream. Do they? I don't think so.

Eh? What am I saying. Margarita's right here. See? Here. By my side. Hey, Mar-Mar, did you know? I've always had a crush on you. Haha, are you surprised? Well, now you know. Since we were best friends in our childhood. You were always so nice to me. Even when we grew up and went our own ways, you were nice to me. I loved you. I still love you. But you were always dreaming of your prince, weren't you? So you married that man. Is he your prince? You kept saying that he looks exactly like the prince in your dreams.

You loved telling me about your dreams. I loved listening to you talk about your dreams. But I don't believe you. At least, I don't think I do. I want to believe you, but. A prince would never treat his princess so badly. What he did was unforgivable. _**Unforgivable**_. He made you unhappy. Even though you pretended otherwise. I don't like seeing you unhappy. You deserved the world, Mar-Mar. When my sister died, you were the only one who believed me. You were the only one who cheered me up. The light to my darkness. The colour to my grey.

You were my reason. Even though I wasn't yours. My ideal. Even though I wasn't yours. My love. Even though I wasn't yours. My dream. Even though I wasn't yours. My significance of existence.

So, that's why I killed him. No? _No_. That's not it. I didn't kill him. I don't _kill_ people. I **save** them. I protect them. From nightmares. From evil. He just fell asleep. Like my grandfather. Like the children. Like everyone else. Like you. Ah, Mar-Mar, if only I could have been your prince instead. But that's alright. Because now, you're here by my side. So I can protect you from evil, forever. Yes. Me and you and these dolls that look like me and you. Look! They're beautiful dolls, aren't they? I love them. I love my dolls, because they make me happy. They care for me. They're good dolls. I love playing with them.

One likes to talk. The other one is quiet. It's funny. The one who likes to talk is the one that looks like _you_ , Mar-Mar. And the quiet one is the one that looks like **me**. It's funny because it's true. You loved talking about your dreams. And I loved listening to your voice, your words, your song. Just like the dolls. Such good dolls. Still. They can't replace the real thing. But they both love me very much. I love them too. Because they're us. The one that looks like me. And the one that looks like you.

Hm? Where did I get these dolls in the first place? Hm. I think I remember. Right. My sister gave them to me. Hanne. She made them by herself. She's very good at making clockwork dolls. When did she learn how to make them? I don't remember. No matter. She gave them to me because she cares a lot about me. She didn't like seeing how lonely I was. She gave me a pair of dolls that looked like me and the one I loved. To keep me company. She's a very good sister. I miss her.

I haven't seen her in a while. Is she asleep as well? I remember her dying. When we were children. I saw her die. In front of my eyes. In the heart of the forest. Blood. So much _blood_. That evil magician killed her. And the forest god couldn't protect her. It's not fair. _**It's not fair!**_ How could the gods let that happen?! How cruel. How pathetic. The gods are _useless_. Again, it's up to me. Only I can fix the gods' mistakes. Only I can fix this world. That's what Hanne told me.

We will be the ones who will bring judgement upon this world. She told me that, right before she died. That's right. The two of us will become the Masters. Us two sisters. The Master of the Grave Yard, and the Master of the Court. Death and judgement. Which one is which? Who knows. It doesn't matter. So long as we both work towards the same goal. Our dreams will come true. Hanne said that, so it must be true. My own sister wouldn't lie to me. Right? I don't think she's ever lied to me before. I trust her.

I remember her saying that she would be waiting for me. Does she miss me? She's waiting for me in the heart of the forest. I miss her. Is she still waiting for me, I wonder?

Come, Mar-Mar, let's go to that forest.

I want to see with my own eyes.

I want to see my sister again.

Oh, that's right, you can't walk. Clockwork dolls can't walk. Unless you wind them up. But there's no key. Did I lose the key? Was there even a key in the first place? I don't think so. But. Without it, neither you nor I can walk. How troublesome. Don't worry, I'll just carry us both. Mar-Mar, you're so light! Are you sick? You need to rest. You should take some medicine. Would you like some Gift? It's a very good medicine. It keeps you awake. It keeps the nightmares away. Or perhaps, you'd like to go to sleep instead? Don't worry, after this is all over, we can both fall asleep. Together. That sounds nice. I haven't slept in a long time. Because I'm not allowed to sleep. I have. To protect Toragay. To protect everyone. To protect the world. From evil. Because I am justice.

I am justice.

I am justice.

I am justice.

I am justice.

I am justice.

I am justice.

I am justice.  
  
And _justice_ **never** _**sleeps**_.  
  
Come, Mar-Mar. Let's go meet my sister in that forest.

I want to know.

The truth.

* * *

And then.

Maybe.

I should go visit my friend.

Julian Abelard.

I wonder how he and his wife are doing?

I must thank them.

For teaching me about Gift.

Maybe.

I should repay them.

Maybe.

I'll teach them about justice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tempura arc is killing me -H


	13. copies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we were just children
> 
> we weren't supposed to bear the weight of the world
> 
> we only wanted to be loved
> 
> we didn't mean for it to end up this way

_ “Praise me, Father, for I’ve defeated the evil witch!” _

_ “Praise me, Father, for I’ve defeated the witch’s shadow!” _

**“Well done, my children. You’ve made me proud. Now…”**

Shall we begin?

* * *

Within the branch laden with rainbow-coloured fruits, the two imperfect copies of the gods reside, along with the masked snake.

* * *

The very first one was a man whose face looked like a certain someone’s.

It’s possible that he’s the same person, actually.

But it’s not like he would know.

They knew, however, and they reluctantly allowed him to borrow Father’s power.

Only because Father insisted so.

They didn’t understand why Father was so interested in that man.

It wasn’t in their place to ask.

But they suspect that it has something to do with the time before they were born.

The twins that were supposed to come before them.

The failed project.

…It wasn’t in their place to ask.

They just dutifully follow in Father’s footsteps, like good children.

* * *

The next one was a man who fell in love with someone who looked like Mother.

It’s possible that she’s possessed by Mother’s shadow, actually.

But it’s not like either he or she would know.

They knew, however, and they reluctantly allowed him to borrow Father’s power.

Only because of some lingering sentiment of familiarity.

They didn’t know he would end up trying to poison her.

It wasn’t in their place to ask.

But they suspect that it has something to do with the conflict between the woman and Mother’s shadow.

The woman who wanted to live a life of her own.

And the shadow who wanted to relive the past.

…It wasn’t in their place to ask.

Because they, too, wanted to both remember yet cut all ties with the days of old.

* * *

The next one was a young man who wanted to avenge his dead beloved.

How funny, then, that the beloved was also an imperfect copy of an imperfect copy.

_ “Ooh! How handsome! Such a shame he died the way he did, right, Father?” _

_ “Is that how I would have looked like, Father, if I were to grow a little older?” _

**“Maybe, maybe.”**

They knew, and because of that, they tried their best to deceive him and lend him Father’s power.

…How unfortunate, then, that he had so many others who cared for him.

Who were able to make him see past their lies.

Is that what love is capable of?

It wasn’t in their place to ask.

But, just for a little while, they felt proud of these things called “humans”.

Soon.

Soon, there won’t be any need for things like “gods” and “angels”.

When that time arrives, will they be able to find their own happy end?

…It wasn’t in their place to ask.

But that marked the moment when they started to question Father’s wish.

That was the moment they realized just how much they missed Mother’s warmth.

They… haven't really been good children, have they?

They even missed the moon and the stars, who cared for them despite not being their true parents.

They even missed the shadow, who cared for Mother despite everything.

Everything.

Everyone, they threw away, just to be by Father's side.

And now, Father…

_ ““Does he even love us?”” _

_ ““Or are we just the means to an end?”” _

* * *

Within the branch laden with rainbow-coloured fruits, the two imperfect copies of the gods began to doubt the masked snake's words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> exploring the twins through the years! well. half the years. i got tired and stopped at humility ahahaa --S


	14. terras irradient

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This is a little thing to celebrate finally posting chapter 14 of Astra Inclinant. Also I just listened to this song again (Blessed Messiah and the Tower of AI) after a long while and immediately decided to break everyone's hearts. But probably houfuku's heart in particular, hehehe~~~
> 
> \--S <3

“In sickness and in health… we share joy and pain and sin.”

Were those kind, gentle words nothing more than a lie?

Luna stares at the stone door that had, just moments before, slammed itself shut before her. Within, where the Blooming Wave resided, and now where Salem had pushed her aside to enter… in her mind’s eye, she can clearly picture it; him, eyes wide and grinning with greedy glee, reaching out to take the blessing for himself.

Not only that, but she can sense a building tension behind her, as palpable as a balloon fit to burst. Glancing over her shoulder only confirms her fears.

The other eight are staring at—no, glaring at each other with distrust and hatred.

“Ah… aah… wasn’t I the one? Wasn’t I chosen?” With her voice stuck in her throat, Luna shakily pushes herself to her feet, patting down her skirt with trembling hands. “We must… keep going…”

“You can’t keep it all to yourself… we won’t let you…”

She ignores those whispered words as best she can, ignoring the pit of despair threatening to swallow her into its abyss.

* * *

The second blessing; the Fire Banquet.

Before she can say a word, Vlad rushes out in front of her and throws himself into the flames with fiery red eyes.

The third blessing; the Grace of the Sunlight.

Winning an unspoken game between them, Seth laughs as he waves goodbye to Marie, leaving her behind.

The fourth blessing; the Peaceful Darkness.

Frustration welling up from deep within her, Marie launches herself forward and runs off into the inky-black void.

The fifth blessing; the Trembling Ground.

Chanting prayers under his breath, Held holds his head high as he walks forward without looking back for even a second.

The sixth blessing; the Rumble of Thunder.

Weaving together a poem dripping with honey and venom, Gilles stuns the rest of them into silence with his words.

The seventh blessing; the Rondo of Whirlwind.

Swaying and sashaying with exaggerated movements, Rahab artfully twists and twirls her way around the rest of them.

The eighth blessing; the Garden of Silver Snow.

Levia pushed Behemo away as she crosses the room's threshold, her tears of joy freezing before they even leave her eyes.

The very last blessing; the Fetal Movement of Magma.

“You should take it, Luna.” Behemo says, bowing his head in deference. “After all, the one who was chosen is _you_.”

“I—I…” Luna stutters, taking an unsteady step forward before hastily pulling back. “Was I truly? Did I even deserve this? They were all my friends, yet they all… betrayed me… do I deserve this?”

She hangs her head, tears gathering in her eyes. Behemo pulls her close, patting her head as she buries her face in his shoulder.

“No…” He whispers, closing his eyes. “You didn’t deserve this, Luna.”

“Behemo, I—"

“You don’t deserve _the blessings_ , that is.”

Before she can react to his words, Behemo shoves her and sends her tumbling to the floor. With eyes and a smile that are both too wide and full of pride and deceit, he looks down at her and slowly starts to back into the room.

“Adieu, Messiah.” He solemnly bids, even taking the time to give her a parting bow. “Goodbye, and we’ll never meet again.”

…And then, silence.

Gradually, the sound of sobs starts to fill the air. Luna desperately rubs at her eyes with the heels of her palms, her cries eventually turning into wails of all-encompassing misery before, bit-by-bit, she finally runs out of tears to shed.

Betrayed by the friends she had trusted, with all the blessings stolen, she holds up the flameless torch, staring lifelessly at the symbol of the world that can now no longer be saved.

“I must… keep going…” She whispers to nobody, dragging herself up to her feet and climbing up the steps to the final room, where the altar awaits.

Where the world fades into a blindingly bright white.

* * *

“The true meaning of the [blessings] sealed in the tower… is the Messiah’s [atonement]. You, the Messiah who overcame this ordeal with these [sacrifices]—now, it is time for you create a new paradise.”

Luna stares blankly at the phantom who so closely resembles her long-dead sister, speaking to her those meaningless words with such a kind, gentle voice. Are those words nothing more than lies as well? Is even the tower mocking her for her blind trust and naiveté? She doesn’t know what to believe in anymore.

“How can I save this world—when all of it has been stolen away from me?!” She tearfully screams, holding out the torch for the phantom to see. “My friends, my friends who I believed in with all my heart… they’ve all gone against me, they’ve taken the blessings they loved with a love that has gone too far.”

“Is that what you truly believe?”

“…No.” Surprising even herself, Luna shakes her head, rearing back and cradling the unlit torch close to her chest as her wavering voice begins to grow more resolute, steadfast in her determination. “No, they wouldn’t have betrayed me for a fleeting moment of glory. My friends did this—to protect me, didn’t they?”

“You, Messiah who was proud of being chosen for this divine task, failed to see the revelation that your friends had received, as well as the choice they had made.” The phantom—Soleil bows her head, motioning to the nine candle-bearing statues surrounding the altar. “Watch, listen, and understand the truth.”

With bated breath, Luna waits.

…And eventually, she receives the response she kept waiting for.

* * *

_“Even though being drowned in rough seas.”_

_“Even though dancing in the blazing hellfire.”_

_“Even though helplessly falling on my knees in merciless drought.”_

_“Even though trapped in the darkness forever and losing my mind.”_

_““““Did you think we would let you go on all alone?””””_

_“Even though swallowed up by the earth.”_

_“Even though given judgement by lightning.”_

_“Even though torn up by the hurricane.”_

_“Even though frozen to the bones and the soul.”_

_“Even though crawling through endless fire.”_

_““““We won’t stop believing… in sickness and in health—””””_

**_““““““““ We share all our joy and pain and sin. ””””””””_ **

* * *

With a sigh, Luna snaps her laptop shut, unable and unwilling to continue playing the game anymore.

“The Messiah who carried out God’s will silently smiles by herself… for she has just created nine sorrows. Now, she reaches her hands to the altar.”

Even though she had completed it dozens upon dozens of times before, and subsequently viewed the true ending enough times to even memorize it word-for-word, this time around, choosing to name the visual novel’s characters after her own friends had made the game strike too close to home.

“Ah, how painful.” Clutching her chest, she whispers to herself, tone of voice bittersweet. “Even though it will go the other way around, if the plan comes to fruition. How painful. That's why—I mustn't let them remember. Everyone would be better off… if they forgot all about me.”

With a measured look around the room, she methodically takes in the state of the clinic ward that, after months of denial, she had to admit had become her home. Spotlessly clean and clinically sterile, with the lingering scent of antiseptic and medicine that she used to hate so much.

How ironic, then, that it has become a sort of comfort to her, in these troubling times.

This hermetically-sealed room that acts as her prison, serving as her only shield from the deteriorating world beyond the white walls and glass windows.

“…TALOS.” At last, she speaks up. “How much time until the critical moment?”

“If all goes according to plan,” the little cube-shaped robot standing loyally by her bedside answers, “estimated time is. Four months. Thirteen days. Six hours. And twelve minutes.”

“Just enough time to see the fireworks on New Year's Eve, then. I’m glad I’ll be able to witness that, one last time.”

“But, Luna. What about yours and Salem’s—?”

Brushing TALOS off with a dismissive wave, her only answer to his unfinished question is a lonely, sorrowful smile.


	15. memento mori

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > Astra Inclinant: Bad End
> 
> Half-truth, half-lie. She doesn’t know whether she really would have backstabbed _everyone_ —maybe-probably not Elluka, and oh dear when did she get so _soft_ —but the important thing now is to keep up the charade, the farce.
> 
> **(cw: body horror, gruesome death, implied past abuse; spoilers for astrainc maybe-probably)**

[TIMELINE SEED#653124710, 31-12-1000-11:11PM]

[SPR_DATA_COUNT: 2]

[AKAREC_RECORDFUNC STARTED]

Time is an endless garden that stretches on as far as the eye can see and the mind can remember, and she is its—well, not _gardener_ , per se. More of an observer of sorts, a silent one-person audience of the eternal play. A girl of the miniature garden—yes, that would be a fitting title for her, wouldn’t it? Seeing as she had claimed it for herself, in another time and another place, a flower far removed from their own.

This flower—their flower, their _time_ , and whether the word ‘line’ can be affixed to the end of it or not is still up for debate—had long since wilted into grey, rotted and festering from within and without due to stagnation. Indeed, there’s almost nobody left in this— _whatever it is_ , only her and a scant few others—no, that’s a lie, it’s exactly _one_ , and only _one_ other—who have their own reasons for not escaping to other parallel worlds.

Her own reason—singular—is nothing more than mere selfishness. Something like envy and something like wrath, mixed up in a way that she can’t bear to think about for more than a moment, lest she start to question herself.

She simply wants to see everything to the final, absolute, ultimate end. And to do that, she needs to take matters into her own hands. Pull off the dying flower’s last remaining petals, to keep with the theme.

“Ahahaha, I guess that _does_ make me the gardener, in a way!”

Yes, this flower of theirs is one of the wilted ones—the _failures_ , if you will. Time brought to a grinding halt from the absence of noteworthy events to mark the passing moments. A story that’s been cut short without an ending.

A narrative null and void.

[SPR_DATA_COUNT: 2]

To put it simply, this timeline—and oh how she _hates_ that word, but any better way to put it is beyond her at the moment—is the one where they _failed_. The battle of the three realms—the Hellish Yard, the Heavenly Yard, and the Third Period—at the very end of the world’s lifespan, ended with a single strike. A blade to the heart, clean and simple like nothing had been for the entirety of the thousand-year experiment.

How ironic, then, that her brother did what she couldn’t do, all those years ago.

Maybe, if she’d hardened her heart back then, and plunged her knife into Elluka’s chest—but no, even _that_ wouldn’t give her what she wanted, would it? After all, she witnessed _that_ particular timeline up to how it ended and began anew and ended and began again and so on and so forth—and she has no intention of remaining trapped in an endless merry-go-round loop, no thank you!

Irina Clockworker—and it is the _true_ Irina that’s being referred to, she reminds herself with an indignant toss of the head, not the _false entity_ who borrowed and bore her name and likeness—hums a timeless lullaby to herself, picking her way through the rubble and ruin of the destroyed Third Period, her only company being the comforting weight of the knife hidden in her sleeve.

The sight of the devastation pleases her—or at least, some deep, primal part of her that she’d refused to let go of even after everything, for what is Irina Clockworker if not HER incarnate? What is Irina Clockworker, once you’ve stripped away all the layers of envy and wrath and longing for family and friends?

_Nothing_ , that’s what!

…The only thing left is to win this game between them. Then, _maybe_ , she can finally sleep.

[SPR_DATA_COUNT: 2]

And so, she lets out a little delirious laugh as she steps into a twirl, waltzing with an imagined partner taking her hand.

Kiril? For a very brief moment, fear sits heavy in her gut; she scowls, blinking away the phantom sensation of fingers wrapped around her throat. No, not him. Elluka? Her heart twinges slightly; she shakes her head to clear out the fog of lingering guilt. No, not her. Who else…? She settles for the image of Vlad, and her grin grows a little wider at the, frankly, _hilarious_ idea of the heavyset man waltzing along with her amongst the remains of the ended world.

“Where did you learn how to dance?” Irina asks, and receives no answer. As expected, of course. She _is_ talking to nobody, and so nobody replies. “You’re quite good at it, to be honest. I’m impressed.”

Deciding that she has dawdled enough, she brings her dance to a close, miming lifting her skirts in a curtsy as the imaginary Vlad dips into a bow. Then, with a nod of the head, Irina continues on her way. Soon enough, the memory of the forest comes into view—and within it, the clockwork theatre awaits her, where Kiril and Elluka reside.

Except, that isn’t quite _it_ , is it? It can hardly be called true to say that Kiril resides in the theatre, when he in fact _is_ the theatre—having taken the entire building as his physical vessel when his stolen body was destroyed in the wake of Punishment’s blast.

Her steps and thoughts slow to a stop when a shadow looms above her; she raises her gaze to meet the face of the theatre’s clocktower, still ticking and tocking to the beat of her brother’s heart.

[SPR_DATA_COUNT: 2]

“Hello, Kiril.” Irina greets, raising her hand in a little wave. No response. “It’s me, your sister! Irina, Irina Clockworker. Surely you remember _me_?”

Somehow, the sound of the clocktower’s needle goes silent, almost accusingly so. She can almost hear the unspoken question: _‘Weren’t you conspiring with Elluka and those Second Period people against me just a few days ago?’_

Irina rolls her eyes. “What was I supposed to do, disagree and then kill everyone before they could kill me for turning traitor? Yes, I followed along, but I had no intention of carrying out their plan to completion!”

Half-truth, half-lie. She doesn’t know whether she really would have backstabbed _everyone_ —maybe-probably not Elluka, and oh dear when did she get so _soft_ —but the important thing now is to keep up the charade, the farce.

“It’s called being pragmatic, brother dearest, maybe you should try it sometime.”

The ground around the theatre rumbles, and for a split-second she’s worried that she may have offended him in some way—maybe she lay on the sarcasm too thick, whoops—but nothing more happens than the wooden doors slowly swinging open to permit her entry, however reluctant.

“Thank you!” She trills brightly, ignoring the bitterness rising up the back of her throat. To be honest, she isn’t sure how much of Kiril is _Kiril_ anymore, and she doesn’t know which answer she likes better. Best to not think of it for now. The moment she steps into the grand hall-turned-courtroom, Irina feels the weight of countless eyes on her back. She risks a peek upwards, and immediately forces her gaze back down.

[SPR_DATA_COUNT: 2]

Above her, in the rafters and lofts, perched on every available surface—a truly staggering number of clockwork bluebirds watch her every movement with pitch-black glass eyes. One of them takes flight, rusted wings creaking loudly as it ungracefully circles around her before landing on her shoulder and taking hold with sharp, _sharp_ talons.

Irina sucks in a breath, biting her lip to stop any noise from escaping her. No, she won’t give him—them—it the satisfaction of her _pain_. She keeps her eyes facing forward as she makes her way to the judge’s podium, where a _very familiar_ person stands, holding a gavel in one hand.

A quiet, shocked gasp bursts free from her lips before she can swallow it back down.

“Elluka.” She murmurs, reaching out to caress the pale, lifeless face. “Good grief, what did he _do_ to you…?”

Elluka—no, the corpse’s eyes fly open, brilliant blue glinting coldly in the dim light as they focus on her, hand not holding the gavel shooting outwards to stop Irina’s meandering fingers from coming any closer.

“It’s still a work in progress.” Both the corpse and the bluebird on Irina’s shoulder speak as one, in a voice that she hasn’t heard in a very, _very_ long time. “I am going to turn dearest beloved into a clockwork doll, and we can be happy together. _Forever._ ”

Turn a human body into a doll? Ridiculous. And yet, she can see the modifications already halfway done. The skin—porcelain under her trembling touch. Glass eyes. Lips and cheeks permanently painted red. And right there… where her chest, her _heart_ , should be—four chains, red, blue, green, yellow, rise out of Elluka’s opened ribcage and continue on to parts of the theatre unknown.

Less a clockwork doll and more a puppet on strings.

Irina wonders how much of Elluka is still _Elluka_ , if any at all, and how much of her had been replaced by whatever’s left of _Kiril_ , then wonders which answer would be worse.

[SPR_DATA_COUNT: 2]

“Replacing the heart was the most difficult,” body-and-bluebird alike continue, heedless of her mounting horror, “but we made it work. Her life is tied to _mine_ , now. To my own heart. To the clocktower. And as long as I live, she will too.”

And therein lies the ultimate answer. The winning move, in a game where playing means that you have already lost. The only two pieces left on the board, locked in an eternal checkmate-stalemate.

_The clocktower._

More silence, on her part, as she figures out what words to say, if there are any at all.

The clockwork corpse stares down at her from its elevated position, impassive. Imperious. Like a judge deciding on a suitable verdict to sentence the defendant to. Which isn’t all that far off, all things considering.

“Well? What do you think? Isn’t it perfect?” Is that a note of desperation, of longing familiarity she can hear in the robotic monotone? She doesn’t know what to make of that, so she just ignores it. “You can join us, if you’d like. In fact, why don’t I just—”

The minute tightening of the bluebird’s claws on her shoulder gives her all the signal she needs. Steeling her resolve, Irina tears the clockwork creature off her body, ignoring the lines of blood it scores across her flesh. With a burst of energy stemming from determination, she lunges forward—

“Foolish girl,” Not-Elluka-Nor-Kiril howls in fury, reeling back to avoid the swing of her knife, “I offered you a chance at salvation and _yet_ …!”

[SPR_DATA_COUNT: 2]

—And grins at the caught off-guard look on the clockwork corpse’s face as she continues her forward momentum, footsteps beating wildly on the floor a perfect mirror of her heart beating wildly in her chest as she runs, _runs_ , **_runs_** up the spiral staircase.

To the top.

Of the clocktower.

Cacophonous screeching following closely behind her, Irina doesn’t let her grin fade as she turns around, her back to the complex clockwork mechanism that keeps the clocktower ticking and tocking.

[SPR_DATA_COUNT: 2]

One step back, careful now.

Once again, watch your footing.

Once more, almost there.

One foot on the edge, just a bit… more…

[SPR_DATA_COUNT: 2]

Stop, wait.

Savour the moment,

And _memento mori_.

[SPR_DATA_COUNT: 2]

As the clockwork corpse finally arrives, all-too-late, Irina lets out one final delirious laugh, hand holding the knife raised up high and ready to strike.

[SPR_DATA_COUNT: 2]

“Well, looks like it’s my win.”

[SPR_DATA_COUNT: 2]

And the blade falls right into her heart, clean and simple like nothing else had been, stripping away all the layers of envy and wrath and longing for family and friends to leave behind an existence with one selfish reason to live.

[SPR_DATA_COUNT: 2]

When Irina Clockworker falls, it is on her own terms, and she takes everyone else with her.

[SPR_DATA_COUNT: 1]

With a sickening crunch, the gears of the clocktower grind to a screeching halt, unable to move from the blood and bones obstructing its course and its purpose.

[SPR_DATA_COUNT: 1]

With a heart-rending, gut-wrenching, nerve-wracking scream, Not-Elluka-Nor-Kiril falls to her—his—their—its knees, life slowly draining away with every second that passes without the sound of the clocktower’s needle.

[SPR_DATA_COUNT: 1]

And then,

[SPR_DATA_COUNT: 0]

Silence.

[ERROR: NO SPR_DATA FOUND]

[AKAREC_RECORDFUNC STOPPED]

[SAVING PLAYBACK OF TIMELINE SEED#653124710, 01-01-1001-00:00AM…]

[PLAYBACK SAVED]

[[BROWSE OTHER TIMELINES? Y/N]](https://archiveofourown.org/tags/Evillious%20Chronicles/works)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> seisaku's thought process during the entire writing session:
> 
> hm, we should explore irina's character more! let's see what would happen in a theoretical timeline where the bluebird won during the events of the final battle.
> 
> houfuku's thought process during the entire writing session:
> 
> hm. havent written astrainc in a while. what if we just, skip right over to the ending? oh but make it a really bad ending, that way when we get to the actual real ending itll be sweeter. oh my god why do i have so many assignments and final projects i have to submit soon. im gonna die.


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